 | Poems and Translations |  |
57
SPRING AND AUTUMN.
“Thou wilt forget me.” “Love has no such word.”
The soft Spring wind is whispering to the trees.
Among lime-blossoms have the hovering bees
Those whispers heard?
The soft Spring wind is whispering to the trees.
Among lime-blossoms have the hovering bees
Those whispers heard?
“Or thou wilt change.” “Love changeth not:” he said.
The purple heather cloys the air with scent
Of honey. O'er the moors her lover went,
Nor turn'd his head.
The purple heather cloys the air with scent
Of honey. O'er the moors her lover went,
Nor turn'd his head.
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